


Sauna

by Monochromely



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monochromely/pseuds/Monochromely
Summary: In the sauna, Yellow Diamond tries to escape her worries and fears, her grief, her anger, her sins... herself.(It never works the way she intends.)





	1. Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Ajkdsahfhdsafdhksa—saunafic is the most blessed trope that Diamond fans have ever received.

When the interface appears next to the tall, golden doors, Yellow Diamond is careful to angle her body in such a way that her companion will be able to see the code—if she’s observant enough.

☼▽₪♢⁞⁞⁞

Nice and simple, written in the standard language of gemkind and not one of the droll alien languages that Blue has (unsuccessfully) tried to impress upon the young Diamond… but Pink isn’t looking, she realizes with a sidewards glance, an irritated jolt. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be staring at anything in particular at all; her hibiscus eyes are wide, gazing emptily into the air that is strewn only with dust motes and the harsh lighting from the overheads.

Yellow frowns, but she does not bite.

Makes a mental note to message the code to her later.

And sighs as the doors retract into the walls with a familiar pneumatic hiss. Billowing steam tumbles out of the newly unlocked room to greet them, envelops their bodies with a welcoming warmth, a pleasant kind of moistness.

“Your sauna?” Pink asks, lifting her head out of its fog and _into_ fog, wonder in her eyes, a tentative excitement where there had once been solemnity and sadness, the weight of a particularly heavy day.

 _There you are,_ Yellow thinks, relieved.

“Yes,” she says wryly, attempting a nonchalance she does not feel, “my sauna—now hurry up and get in before I change my mind about _letting_ you in here.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

In seconds, Yellow can only see a pair of pink heels flashing through the vapor. In a couple more, she hears a prolonged squeak that suggests the sound of a rear end sliding enthusiastically onto one of the tall benches.

Yellow’s smile is soft, barely there, and soon eviscerated as she steps further into the haze.

Just as she carefully lowers herself onto the long, quartz pew, the doors slide to a resounding shut behind her, and the room refills itself with steam, coating her armor, sweating her skin, relieving her hollow bones of all the tension that had been built up at court.

She shattered a truant today.

Contrary to popular belief, she does not take that lightly.

“It’s wonderful, Yellow!” Pink effuses from somewhere next to her, all but wrapped in vapor, a puzzle of pink pieces—a stray curl of her hair, a flash of her glove, a contented smile. “It's so warm and nice—my gem feels _so much better—_ and um, thank you for bringing me here!”

“You needed it,” she simply says, offering her a shrug of armored shoulder. “We both did.”

In her chest, the pulsations of her gem start to slowly even out; within a few more minutes still, they will fade into quiet nothingness, into a temporary sort of peace. The heat’s encompassing pressure on her gem is like a vice, squeezing all of her anxieties away.

(The Quartz refused to scream when Yellow squeezed and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.)

“Yeah,” Pink murmurs, her smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. She suddenly shifts away from Yellow, away from the hand that might very well still glitter with purple shards. “We did.”

(Her name was Amethyst—Facet 3YX, Cut 59K.)

“I had to shatter her,” Yellow argues (against Pink’s sad eyes, against herself, against the strange shape that the steam seems to be assuming, that of feathery, white hair). “She was setting a dangerous precedent for other Quartzes—going around trying to rally them to rebellion, shirking her work. She had to be used as an example.”

(She could have just imprisoned her, could have poofed and bubbled her and forgotten her within minutes.)

“Did she have to die to do _that_?” Pink bites back and then covers her mouth when she realizes that she did, her delicate features awash in horror as she awaits Yellow’s reaction—her assured rage, her infamous snarl.

But in the sauna, laden by the heaviness of the heat, the murmuring tendrils of stream, Yellow cannot muster herself to her most dangerous heights.

She leans back, her spine finding purchase against the hard wall, and closes her weary eyes.

_Inhales._

Counts to ten, tries to think of something wise, something authoritative to tell the junior Diamond.

And then _exhales_ , coming up with nothing but the cold truth.

It is heavy upon her tongue.

A burden that this room has yet to cast off.

She opens her eyes slowly, her long lashes dripping with steam.

“I don’t know, Pink,” she admits, her voice not quite soft... but not quite harsh either. “But it’s done now. Let it… let _her_ … rest.”

Pink Diamond is silent for a long moment.

In this room, where time is distorted by heat and vapor and the four walls that trap these mercies in, it feels like forever.

“O-kay…” She eventually sounds out—like it's a new word, like she's still unconvinced, like she's not okay with giving an _okay_. She pulls her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around her knees, and exhales with a finality that simultaneously relieves Yellow and condemns her. “I’ll… let her rest.”

(Blue ushered away before she hear, before she could know… the continued sentience of a shattered gem. There is no rest. There is no peace. There is only pain and suffering and eternity and—)

Just as her gem begins to take on a frenzied glow, Yellow pulls her glove across it, wraps her long fingers around its edges like vices that have not yet committed to their one job.

“Good deal,” she murmurs, hoarse. (In denial, she attributes it to the heat.) “And Pink?”

“Yes, Yellow?”

“On days like this… when your mind is muddled and your gem is rigid… you’re welcome to find solace here.”

Hibiscus eyes find her through the steam, wide and wondering, edges beginning to lift in a smile.

“Really?”

“Yes—just don’t annoy me about it.”

“You’re the best, Yellow!”

(“You pretend to have our best interests at heart,” the Quartz spat, “but all you do is serve yourself and then expect _us_ to serve you, too.”)

“Tell that to Blue Diamond for me, will you?”


	2. Blue

It is the anniversary of her… of the… shattering.

They’re all bad days nowadays, but this?

_This?_

This makes a bad day _unbearable._

And for her companion—the merciless Blue Diamond, shatterer, conquerer, goddess, queen— _unlivable_.

Yellow Diamond spends hours in the exact place she never wants to be anymore—Pink’s chambers—and keeps her hand pressed into the small of Blue’s back. She has a vague superstition, if she has a superstition about anything in this damn world, that she is all that is keeping the other Diamond together, that if she even lets one finger fall away from dark fabric, she risks watching her companion shatter before her eyes.

So she presses her palm deep into the curve of Blue Diamond’s spine, forcing herself to be cognizant of every sob, present for them. Some hours, she counts them as their vibrations crawl all over her skin like electrical pulses, stinging her. Others, she closes her eyes tightly against the heaving, only opening them again when the gathered darkness starts to take on the shape of a memory.

Of the vibrant laugh that once echoed down the hallways, announcing a young Diamond’s presence far more efficiently than a Pearl ever could.

Of the hibiscus pink eyes that begged her to deal with Rose Quartz.

She knelt before her.

She pleaded.

“Don’t be absurd,” Yellow said time and time again, dismissing her with a wave, a snarl, an indignant harrumph. “You’re a Diamond, and she’s a mere Quartz. She can’t hurt you.”

She recalls the day she bequeathed Pink with her own colony.

She knew better.

She damn _well_ knew better.

And now she is gone, and Blue Diamond is slowly petrifying beneath the weight of her palm.

(When they found her shards, strewn in the dirt like common rocks, Blue collapsed to her knees and screamed.)

“Blue,” she whispers, when hours upon hours have passed, when the skylight is beginning to reflect a new morning—a whole day has been wasted, a cycle they can never take back. (There are so many things they cannot take back.) “We’ve got to get up now.”

There are duties to be done.

Colonies to manage.

Gems to keep in line.

White Diamond to please.

Not that either of them have been very pleasing to her lately.

 _Distracted_ , Yellow apologized.

 _Compromised_ , White hissed.

“Get up then.” The reply’s assured sharpness is muffled by robes and tears alike, but it stings Yellow anyway, plucks sharply at her gem.

“We’ve been here an _entire_ day,” she retorts, her growing anger the loudest sound in this wretchedly empty chamber, “sitting here doing nothing while we _could_ be enacting revenge plans, or, _I don’t know_ , doing our actual jobs! Stars, in the two hundred years we’ve not been doing anything, we could have conquered Earth already and danced on its ashes!”

“It wouldn’t bring her back.” The reply is immediate, almost mechanical.

It’s an old argument, the only one they ever have.

But even still, Yellow cannot quite bring herself to murmur the words, “Nothing ever will.”

It would be an admission, and Yellow Diamond doesn’t do those very well.

So instead, she says, she resigns herself to, “I know... but we cannot afford to petrify like this, Blue. We are more than stagnations! We’re leaders, rulers—we’re…”

_Compromised._

She exhales deeply, changes the subject. “At any rate, would you at least decompress with me?”

“What?”

“I’m going to the sauna, and I would like you to come with me.” _To get off this floor. To get out of your own head._ “I need to prepare for the day, and after we’re done... you can return here or to your chambers, whatever you’d like... I won’t stand in your way.”

Blue is silent and still under her tall hand. With the way her lank hair has fallen on either side of her face, Yellow cannot see her arctic eyes; at the same time, she isn’t sure she even wants to.

Dark grooves have begun to form under them in the last fifty years or so.

Grooves Yellow isn’t sure will _ever_ go away.

“Please?” She asks. (She doesn’t mean for the question to sound so vulnerable, so raw and stripped naked of its usual verve. She doesn’t mean to sound broken.) “It might help you feel better."

_And I’ll feel better when you do._

After a longer moment still, Blue’s long chin finally descends into what Yellow thinks is a nod. In a painful second more, she extends a trembling hand from her oversized robes, and Yellow seizes upon it like it’s a lifeline, temples it with her own.

They are slow to rise. Blue staggers to her feet, as though she has forgotten how to stand.

They are slow to limp to the golden doors in a forgotten hallway at the edges of their palace.

Even walking feels fragile.

It all does.

(“For the record,” Blue murmurs, when they’re halfway there, “nothing will ever make me feel better.”)

Yellow holds her breath as she extracts her hand from Blue’s back for the first time in what feels like decades, types in the code and quickly returns it.

Steam ushers them in, and mercifully enough, devours them whole.

She is painstakingly tender as she lowers Blue Diamond onto a pew.

She is meticulous as unlatches the clasp of her hooded cloak, shrugs it gently over her disheveled head and lets it dissipate until it is called for again.

She is weary as she knobs the dial to its fullest setting, weary as she realizes that no amount of steam will ever undo what has been done to them both.

And she is sad.

She is so damn sad, all the damn time.

She stops just in front of Blue Diamond.

Rests her chin on the crown of her broken head.

And holds her tight, her fingers twisting desperately into damp fabric.

“I’m sorry, Blue.”

But sorry won’t bring Pink Diamond back either.

Nothing ever will.

All of this, everything they’ve ever done, has been a useless demonstration in the inevitability of entropy.

Everything, all that they’ve ever loved, goes to dust.

“I’m sorry,” she says anyway.

And she says it again and again and again—for thousands of years in so many different ways.

The steam wreathes them into a tighter embrace.

Polishing them, refining them, into shiny, broken statues.

“I’m sorry.”


	3. Yellow

Arms behind her back, stout heels clicking reliably against the burnished floor, Yellow Diamond relays her final instructions of the evening as she treads her way to her next destination.

“Pearl, I want you to assign a squadron of Bismuths to repair that hole, and if possible…” She frowns ever so slightly, the sharp line of her mouth thinning into nonexistence. “…Blue Diamond’s palanquin.”

The little Pearl jogs to keep in time with her massive wake.

“Yes, my Diamond! What are my orders should Blue Diamond’s palanquin prove to be unfixable?”

“Then they’re to make her a new one.” An _obviously_ is implicit in the sudden curl of her lip, the haughty upturn of her aquiline nose.

“Excellent, my Diamond.” And an apology for being so careless is written all over Pearl’s lanky frame. She wrings her pale hands; she bites her thin lip. She’d prostrate herself if her Diamond would let her.

(Her Diamond won’t let her.)

“Additionally, I expect a full transcription of today’s proceedings in my inbox before this cycle is over,” Yellow says as they turn a corner, quickening her pace from a slow, purposeful stride to a brisk walk, quite uncaring that her Pearl is sprinting to keep up with her now. “You may use my personal code to access video feeds of the prisoner before her escape; I want every moment she _dared_ to defile these halls available to me in your report.”

“Of course”—the Pearl huffs—“my Diamond!”

Her fluffy hair bobs wildly with each exaggerated motion of her body, her scissoring hands an awful approximation of a windmill.

“And, Pearl?” Yellow abruptly stops in front of a pair of intricate golden doors, her gloved hand reaching out to hover above the faintly glowing interface. Unable to slow her momentum, Pearl smacks into her Diamond’s right leg.

She falls backwards, dazed, and Yellow half-patiently waits until her wide eyes have focused before she continues.

“Sorry, my—“ She stops mid-sniveling apology, violently remembering that her Diamond can’t stand sniveling apologies. “Y-yes, my Diamond?”

“No gratuitous doodles on this one.”

“N-naturally, my Diamond.”

Yellow types in the code—still unchanged after thousands of years—and closes her harshly lined eyes as the doors slide open with a pneumatic hiss.

Clever to be a _Pearl_ —that’s what her Diamond says anyway—Pearl understands this to be her dismissal and rises to her feet, bobs her nervous head, and turns to leave, but Yellow thinks of one last request. It comes to her suddenly, like a lightning strike.

“Pearl?” Steam wreathes around her towering form, envelops her in a welcome embrace. She hasn’t made a movement to enter the sauna yet, her tall hands clenched tightly by her sides, the lines of her knuckles sharply defined even through all the fog.

Pearl pirouettes once more, eyes her Diamond with that always curious blend of apprehension and adoration.

“Yes, your Lustrousness?”

“I would like a report on Blue Diamond... how she is...” She hesitates, catches herself. “... what she is doing. She is _not_ to know that I’ve asked. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my Diamond!” Pearl bows, and Yellow Diamond nods once before vanishing into the haze.

The doors grind to a solemn shut behind her.

They say she relaxes in there.

Rumor has it that she comes out a new gem.

—

Palms pressed flat against the wall, Yellow Diamond steadies herself against the accusation that that perversive Zircon so pointedly leveled in their faces.

That Pink’s shattering was not perpetrated by Rose Quartz.

That one of them, a Diamond—a _Diamond!_ —could have had something to do with it.

That she or Blue… or even White… could have _ever_ lifted a sword against their youngest member, who once skipped around the palace with flowers in her hair, who sang for them on long nights when the stars were dim and their gems were hollow.

She had a lovely voice, high and clear, like the pitching of a bird.

She would perch on Yellow’s shoulder and hum.

_How dare she?_

_How dare you?_ She should have growled. She should have shattered that nervous wreck on the spot.

Should have made an ornament out of her shards and let her pieces be a deterrent to anyone who dared to cross her.

 _But_ … a common gem like her could never know… could never experience… the bonds which coexist between members of the Diamond Authority.

So she zapped her, bubbled her, and will forget about her soon enough.

There are more pressing matters at hand, and press against her they do, thousands of invisible hands clambering across her armor, welling up the column of her throat—choking her. The steam swells around Yellow Diamond, too, builds into a crescendo, a cloud, a hissing wave, a storm… but does not quite crash down upon her person.

As though it is waiting.

Watching her every frenzied action.

Which is an absurd notion in and of itself because it’s _steam_ , and it adheres to no hard and fast physical rules, but her mind is racing against the heat, and her gem pulses gold in the harsh outline of her chest.

_“You don’t want to get to the bottom of this!” Blue seethed when it was all said and done, her gait dangerous and slow, that of a predator cornering its prey. “You want to wrap everything up—her, me, all that has ever happened to us—in a nice, shiny bow and go on with our eternal lives! You’re callous, Yellow. You’ve grown mean.”_

_Yellow laughed in spite of herself, and the sound was harsh even to her own ears—metallic, clanging, cold._

_“You’re deluded—more so than you usually are—if you think I’m going to take a morality lesson from a gem who has neglected her entire court for thousands of years because she can’t even rouse herself to stand,” she snarled, stepping forward as Blue lurched back. This was their tango, horrible and vicious and loud. “You sincerely wanted to hear more of that Zircon’s drivel about how_ **_we_ ** _could have shattered her?! Did you wish to invite even_ **_more_ ** _guilt on your conscience because I sure as hell—” She stopped short, but the damage was already done, the admission already choked from her gritted teeth._

_Guilt._

_She was drowning in it._

_(She damn well knew Pink wasn’t ready to have a colony.)_

_“Yellow,” Blue whispered, her tall features crumbling upon themselves, dark eyes pooling, oozing with the sympathy Yellow so detested in others, much less her equal, her companion._

_It was sickening._

_Unbearable._

_Blue Diamond extended a long hand, a tender one—perhaps making to rest it upon her cheek, her gem, her shoulder—but Yellow caught her wrist before the touch could land._

_“Don’t.” It was quiet._

_It was not kind._

_The other Diamond wrenched her hand away, stung, her refrain clear in her arctic eyes._

**_“You’re callous, Yellow. You’ve grown mean.”_ **

In the sauna, Yellow Diamond rears her right hand back and slams it against the wall.

Her palm caves inwards, chips the quartz, and little golden shards fall to the bench below.

Embed themselves into her hand.

Shattered.

The room is.

Pink is.

Sometimes, she very well could be.

Steam pours down like night, pitching upon her head like a scourge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and support on this fic! Every Kudos and comment means the world to me.


	4. Steven

When the interface appears next to the tall, golden doors, Yellow Diamond peers surreptitiously down to her shoulder, where her companion is staring straight ahead with wide, apprehensive eyes, her knees pulled up to her chest.

 _Pink Diamond_ … but she calls herself Steven now—which is objectively the most _asinine_ moniker she has ever heard in thousands of years—but she doesn’t dare say it.

Doesn’t dare shatter the fragile peace between them.

(Never again.)

Instead, she makes to type in her code, carefully angling her body in such a way that Steven will be able to _see_ the code—if she’s observant enough—and she might very well be this time around. Her smile is wide, and there are certain aspects of her personality that are still undeniably goofy, _but_ there’s also a subtle solemnity about her person, too.

Something heavy upon her little shoulders.

It was in her eyes when they forbade her Earth friends from entering the royal court. (They _had_ to maintain decorum after all, and they very well couldn’t let a _fusion_ in there.)

It was in her frown when Blue Diamond forced her into her old appearance modifiers. (“ _Oh_ ,” she gushed, drawing her long hands into an effusive temple. “You look lovely.”)

(But, to be fair, Yellow can’t blame Steven for that one. Those puff ball shoes have always been conspicuously ugly.)

So Yellow, under the guise of taking her up to one of the control towers, scooped Steven up and away—but not to the north wing where the towers stand like tall pillars guarding Homeworld’s secrets.

Rather, she takes him to her sauna, the shelter that guards _her_ own.

☼▽₪♢⁞⁞⁞

The doors hiss to an open, and steam pours forth like frothing liquid.

“You don’t remember this place,” Yellow remarks as she strolls in, “but I can remember clearly enough for the both of us, I suppose.” Carefully, she plucks Steven from the height of her shoulder and sets her down on one of the quartz benches. She is remarkably small in comparison to her, not even the size of her hand. When Yellow sits down, she is meticulous not to… _well_ … squish her. “After hard days, you would join me in here, and we would steam our impurities away.”

“You would?” Steven asks, her brown eyes swirling with confusion, awe. She kicks her feet playfully against the bench, pulls a little at the golden trunks that Yellow barked at her own Pearl to conjure up for the prodigal Diamond.

“ _We_ would. Constantly,” Yellow returns as she reaches over to knob the dial to a medium setting. Steven’s skin is more pliable than her former iteration’s was, most likely a result of Earth’s ultraviolet radiation. The newly adjusted steam hisses from the filters that surround the perimeter of the benches, rising into the air like long blades of grass stirred by the wind. She leans into their tendrils, eased into relaxation by their touch. They swirl around her; they massage the tensions in all of her grubby facets.

Pink Diamond is _home_.

She never could have imagined it, never in her wildest dreams could have dared to hope, that this would be _her_ reality.

Six thousand years.

They dragged on and on, like one foot over the other in a deep mire, and now they’ve suddenly come to an end.

Pink is  _home_.

“Lots of hard days then, huh?”

But then her jubilation is just as quickly shattered.

The question is so innocent, so devoid of recollection, that Yellow cannot help but stare.

She doesn’t remember _any_ of it—everything that has ever happened to them—and this continued realization has been unfolding and unfolding until there is nothing left but the truth.

Steven will never be the _old_ Pink Diamond again.

She’s home.

But she is not _here_.

“We are leaders, Pink— _Steven_ ,” she begins sternly enough, but then she looks away, cannot bear to see the lack of cognition in Pink’s eyes. They’re not hibiscus pink anymore; they’re _brown_. “Rulers. Our burdens pile up day after day like kindling. You’ll relearn that again soon enough.”

“As if I haven’t already.” Yellow isn’t sure that she heard her right.

Surely she didn’t.

“Come again?”

Steven’s fists are clenched by her sides, and when she speaks again, her words are clenched, too.

“I mean, not to be rude, but I’ve been—my _mom’s_ been gone for, like, thousands of years, and the moment you think you’ve gotten her back, you and Blue Diamond both have tried your hardest to make things go back to normal.”

“Pink, that is hardly app—” But Steven cuts her off, her voice seized with frustration, and there is something _in_ that frustration that makes Yellow wants to run away from this tiny creature.

Her Pink.

(But she’s long had the sneaking suspicion that—)

“ _She_ wants to forget everything that happened, wants to start all over and pretend that things are fine, and _you_ want me to remember. You want me to pick up right where Pink left off, and I can’t—I can’t do that!” She suddenly looks up at Yellow, her dark eyes glazed with an anger that does not quite befit her. “I’m not _her_!”

“Then who the hell are you?!” Yellow immediately snarls, leaping up from her perch, her back to Steven.

His not-pink eyes.

His anger.

His _gem_.

_Hers._

There is not much room to brood in the sauna, so small and so dense—meant to contain her and the steam, and occasionally, the sharp wounds she wraps her entire being around. She shoves her hands against the ornately carved wall and is not surprised when marble falls from her fingertips, crumbling under her force as though it was mere dust.

Here is her suspicion confirmed.

The six-thousand years have not ended yet.

Onwards they march, and she's drowning in them.

Suffocating.

Steven’s answer is soft, uncertain, and full of burden, of kindling.

Her head is the very same, bowed beneath its own weight.

“I’m Pink Diamond’s son,” he says, so very simply, like he’s known it to be true all of his life. “You’re smart, Yellow Diamond, logical… I think you know that I’m right.”

“You’re deluded.” But the answer is empty, falling to the ground with all the marble.

“I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not.” She feels a tiny something at the back of her leg, a _whisper_ , a touch.

She glances down, and Steven is there, his palm pressed softly against her boot.

He’s so small.

(He’s not Pink Diamond.)

“Get away from me.” The command is heavy on her tongue, spoken to the wall. The little whisper draws back and away.

 _He_ does.

“We’re still family, Yellow Diamond. I’m gonna… I’m gonna make you see that one day—you, Blue Diamond, and White.”

Family.

_What the hell does that even mean?_

(But she knows—she _does_. Pink told her that they could be one all of those many years ago, said that they could love each other, told her that it was an extraordinarily human thing to do.)

She laughs a laugh that she does not feel—long and derisive, a mockery of his feelings, of all his precious sentiments. It reverberates in the chamber, a claustrophobic echo.

( _He’s not her._ He’s not her. He’s not her. He’s not her. The refrain is endless, each one a new sting.)

“Good luck with that.” She throws in a snort for good measure as more marble disintegrates beneath her fingertips, crashing to the ground, caking the palms of her hands.

And then she makes to say something else—something scathing, something unkind—but when she finally turns around, there is nothing but fog and an open door like a gaping wound.

Yellow Diamond is alone.

She’s made this mistake before.

 _But_ —she snatches her hands from the wall and stares at the maw Steven left behind—she's not sure she wants to be damned to make it again.

The open door is an invitation as much as it is a condemnation.

She takes one small step and then another.

"Steven..." She practices her admission to the steam. It is quiet, all vulnerability. (He is not her.) Another step. One more. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows she has to hurry. Every stubborn impulse in her body tells her that it is beneath her to care.

Yellow Diamond reaches the doorway just as he is about to turn the corner.

He is dripping, soaking wet, and from behind, his nest of hair almost resembles _hers_.

Her plump lips part.

She has to say something.

Has to do it now.

"Steven... _wait_."

(But he is already gone.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking this ride with me! I hope you've enjoyed!


End file.
